


You Can't Leave Me. Not Again.

by holmesbrcthers



Series: Prompted Ficlets [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Cancer, M/M, Sherlock is terrified which how much he loves John, sherlock is dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holmesbrcthers/pseuds/holmesbrcthers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been an entire year since John had discovered Sherlock Holmes in bed with another man. The betrayal had stung John to the very core: he thought they were strong, that they were in love. After everything they had been through, Sherlock went and did this, hurt John in the worst way possible. John had always been insecure about their relationship, and honestly, who wouldn’t be when they were dating Sherlock? The man was beautiful and brilliant and one of the most amazing, wonderful, electric, fantastic people John has ever met. And John was just… Well, ordinary.</p><p>And Sherlock had gone and proved it all true when he had cast John to the side, had gotten bored of him and found someone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can't Leave Me. Not Again.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was: Johnlock and death.

It had been an entire year since John had discovered Sherlock Holmes in bed with another man. The betrayal had stung John to the very core: he thought they were strong, that they were in love. After everything they had been through, Sherlock went and did this, hurt John in the worst way possible. John had always been insecure about their relationship, and honestly, who wouldn’t be when they were dating Sherlock? The man was beautiful and brilliant and one of the most amazing, wonderful, electric, fantastic people John has ever met. And John was just… Well, ordinary. 

And Sherlock had gone and proved it all true when he had cast John to the side, had gotten bored of him and found someone else.

John had fled, leaving London all together. There were too many memories, too much pain. He would be damned if he had to stay with Harry, and so John found himself his own place, as far away from Sherlock as he deigned to go. He had moved to Scotland, taking over an old cottage that his grandmother had left the family after she had died. It was located in a small town not too far from Edinburgh, and the cottage was small and cramped and leaked when it rained, which was often, but it was fine. It was good. It was calm. It was what John needed to heal his broken heart. 

And then one day, there was a knock on the door, and Sherlock bloody Holmes stood on the other side. John promptly slammed the door in the other man’s face and yelled at him to go away. 

Sherlock felt his heart ache as John screamed at him through the closed door. “John, please. You don’t even have to look at me, just… I want to talk to you,” he said, keeping his emotions in check. It wouldn’t do good to start letting out all those pent out emotions right now. It had been a year, and a year was too long without John by his side. Sherlock had always known where the ex-military doctor had gone, but he had left him some space, hoping time would help heal his broken heart. 

Apparently not.

“John, I’m sorry,” he said again. “Please, let me in. I’ll leave as soon as we’ve talked.” Sherlock ran a shaking hand through his dark curls. 

Bloody hell, why couldn’t Sherlock just leave him alone?! He had been doing… Well, not better, but at least he wasn’t thinking about what happened every waking moment of his life. He was finally moving on a little bit, but of course, Sherlock had to come back into his life and ruin everything he’d built up so slowly.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Sherlock. Please. Just leave me alone,” John begged quietly against the door. He hated how pathetic he sounded. 

“John,” the taller man answered, just as quietly. “Please,” he begged after a moment of silence, his voice almost breaking. “I’ll leave you alone after all of this, I promise. Just… Let me in, John. Please.” 

“What do you want from me, Sherlock!? Was it not enough to break my heart? You have to rub it in my face that you’re all happy and moved on now?” John said through the door, huffing angrily. 

Sherlock pressed his forehead against the wooden door, sighing heavily. “John, I really am sorry. You have to understand that. And I’m not here to rub anything in your face… I’ve not moved on. I’m not happy, I’m terribly sad. I…” Sherlock cut off, rubbing a hand across his face. His chest pained him, and he found it difficult to find his words. “I’m sorry, John,” he managed finally. “Please open the door,” he pleaded again, his voice barely audible through the thick wood. 

John slowly opened the front door a fraction, glaring at Sherlock through the crack. “What is it!?” he hissed at the other man. 

Sherlock let out a deep sigh and looked over John, heart aching even more as he saw him again after all this time. He rubbed a hand at his thin face again nervously. “Please, let me in. I need to talk to you,” he begged again as he willed the tears to go back where they came from.

“If I let you in, will you promise to leave after you’re done?” John asked warily. He did not need this right now. 

“I promise,” Sherlock said honestly. “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t need to. I’m sure you know that, by now. I just…” He cut off again as he rested his weight against the doorframe heavily, his forehead pressing into the wood as his eyes fell shut, a pained expression crossing his face.

John hesitated before stepping back and opening the door. His gaze swept over Sherlock and he inwardly cursed. To add insult to injury, Sherlock was still as beautiful as ever, and angles and light and darkness. Everything John remembered, not a hair out of place and that bloody majestic coat of his flapping out behind him. He looked down at the floor, embarrassed at how run down he must look in comparison to the other man: the last year had been hard on John. The emotional turmoil had made him lose weight and the army doctor had gained wrinkles: he looked like he aged five years rather than just the one.

Sherlock let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he breathed, stepping into the small cottage. ‘Oh, John,’ he thought to himself, looking over the ex-military doctor. He hadn’t been taking care of himself much, that was obvious, but he was still as stunning as ever, in his mind. The extra grays made him even more endearing to him, and it took everything he had in him not to reach out and hold him, tell him he loved him. John didn’t need that, and Sherlock refrained, not wanting to hurt the man he loved anymore than he already did. He took off his coat and slung it over the arm of one of the sofas, plopping down on it as soon as he was near enough. Sherlock let his head fall back, and he closed his eyes as he let out another deep sigh and ran his hands absentmindedly over his face. 

John would offer Sherlock tea, but it wasn’t exactly a pleasant visit, and he wanted the other man out of there as soon as possible. He kept his distance and hovered nervously by his arm chair that was next to the lumpy sofa.

“So… What is it?” John asked, crossing his arms. He forced himself to remain calm as the silence stretched on, heavy between them.

“I have cancer, John,” Sherlock admitted, deciding to get right to the point. “I’m dying.” He kept his eyes closed, unable to look at the other man.

John froze. Time froze. Everything around John seemed to shrink and the word ‘cancer’ seemed to swell and surround the whole room until it was the only thing John could see. He blinked, and dropped down into his arm chair. “What?” he asked quietly, still not sure if he had heard it right. 

Sherlock let out a shaky breath. “You heard me,” he breathed out, unable to say the words again. It had taken him everything just to say the words aloud that first time. He didn’t think he could say them again. “I… I thought you should know, I’m sorry…” The words stumbled out of his mouth as he got up and grabbed for his coat, tears streaming down his face. “I’m sorry, this was stupid, you didn’t need to know… Oh, John, I’m sorry… I… I just had to see you again,” he muttered as he threw the coat on, angrily wiping at the tears on his face. 

“Sherlock!” John stood up in an instant and grabbed Sherlock’s arm. “Wait! Talk to me!” 

The taller man froze, his arm held tight by John’s hand. “I’ve told you what I came here to say, John. I promised you I’d leave right after, and I’m keeping that promise,” he whispered out, voice hoarse. “There’s nothing left to say.” Sherlock turned his tearstained face to John, the pain finally evident on his features. “Oh, John…” 

“Please,” John asked, barely a whisper. “Just tell me… What are your chances? What kind of cancer? You can…There are treatments you can do! I can… I can research them for you!” 

“Oh, John,” he whispered again. “It’s a brain tumour, of all things,” he admitted. “They’ve already told me that I had a year to live, if I was lucky. I’ve researched, John. There’s not much I can do.”

“No,” John shook his head. “No, there must be something you can do!” John grabbed onto Sherlock’s shirt and shook the other man. “You bastard! Why!?” John wasn’t sure what he was questioning - why did it have to be like this? Why did you cheat on me? Why don’t you have more time? Why is this happening? - but he couldn’t stop himself from asking anyways. “Why, Sherlock? Why!?”

More tears fell down Sherlock’s face and he let the shorter man shake him. He deserved it. Sherlock reached around his friend and wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight against his chest, pinning John’s arms against him. Sherlock kissed the top of John’s head, trying to comfort him. “I’m so, so sorry, John. You deserve so much better than what I put you through,” he whispered into the other’s hair. “I could spend hours explaining, and it would never make it right. I was foolish, and I lost the only person I loved, and not only that. But I hurt him. I hurt you, and for that, I can never forgive myself.” 

John looked up at Sherlock, heart pounding. “Why did you do it, then?” Despite everything that had happened, John needed to know, needed to know why the only person he’d ever truly loved had gone around and betrayed him. 

“Because you were the only person I’d ever been with. Ever. You were my first everything, and I loved you. And it scared me,” Sherlock admitted, voice tight and strained from emotion. “I’ve never had people care for me, and there I was, already thinking about our lives when we’d grow old together, and it scared me. And then, to see you looking back at me, loving me just as much… John, I’ve been called a freak my whole life. You, loving me? It was too much.” Sherlock paused, his breath ragged. “I didn’t think I deserved you, and I still think you deserve more, but I was selfish. I loved you too much, and I couldn’t give you up. I had to find a reason for you to leave me, for you to go away and move on, find yourself someone else…” Sherlock locked eyes with John, a single tear falling down his face. “I did it because I loved you, and I wanted the best for you,” he admitted, his voice shaking. “My logic was flawed, I can see that now, but emotions clouded my judgement. They always have, when it comes to you. Oh, John. I am so sorry,” he whispered as he pressed his forehead to John’s, sobs coursing through his body.

John let out a choked gasp as Sherlock told him why he did what he did, breaking John’s heart even more than he thought possible. For a genius, Sherlock was a bloody idiot. “Sherlock… What you did hurt me in ways I can’t even describe. When I walked into our flat, our home and saw you…” John stopped and closed his eyes. “Did you know what went through my mind? I thought I wasn’t good enough for you, that you had finally gotten bored of me. And that hurt me more than anything. I knew you were too good for me, I was convinced of that and when you… Well, when you did what you did, it was like everything that I had been scared of was confirmed,” he swallowed thickly. “And honestly, what you wanted for me… To find someone else… That didn’t work, did it? I’m still here, by myself because I just couldn’t move on. I couldn’t move on from you, Sherlock. I still love you and I hate that I still love you but I do! God help me, I do!”

Sherlock’s breath hitched and he let his head rest heavier against the other as he listened to John. “I know, I know, John, I’m a bloody fool. I’m so sorry, John,” he whispered again. “And I could never get bored of you, love. You are the absolute best thing that has ever happened to me, and I don’t deserve you. I never have, and I just keep proving that.” Sherlock pulled an arm away from John so he could rest a hand on John’s cheek, cupping it. “I love you, John. I truly do, and I know I’m unable to show it in normal ways, I know that. I’m a bastard, and for that I’m sorry. Dammit, I’m sorry for so much, John, you have no idea. I love you, and I miss you terribly. I love you, I really do.” His voice died out as he raised his head and pressed a kiss to John’s forehead, eyes closed tightly as guilt tightened his features harshly.

John grabbed Sherlock into a tight embrace, not wanting to let go. It had been a year since he’d held Sherlock in his arms, and God, he had missed this. Missed holding this man in his arms, holding him close, breathing him in. And to think that he wouldn’t have much more time to do this… “Sherlock,” John said quietly, absolutely wrecked. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “Not unless you ask me to. I won’t leave you again.” Sherlock pulled John even closer, his body desperate for contact. “I love you,” he said again. 

John reached up and cupped Sherlock’s face in his hands. “I love you, you great big bloody idiot,” John said, blinking back tears. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner?” 

Sherlock let out a shaky laugh, letting his thumb trace over John’s features. “I wanted to give you time to heal, time to find someone else. I didn’t want to walk back in and beg for you to come back, even though it’s what I wanted to do from the moment I saw your face in the doorway, seeing me and…” His face fell at the memory: he had never thought that he would ever see John so absolutely broken, and he never thought that he could ever hurt as much as he did. He cleared his throat, casting those thoughts away. “But when I got the news, I had to find you.”

“I… I have friends, who specialize in cancer. I can give them a call,” John said, tearfully. “We can fight this. I can make you better, I know I can.” 

A smile tugged at Sherlock’s lips as another tear fell from his eyes. “Then we’ll call them, John. But only if you’re by my side. If you’re not, I don’t care about the treatments.” 

“Don’t you dare give up,” John said, shaking his head fiercely. “Don’t you dare! You’ve put me through enough already! You can’t leave me again, you can’t! I refuse to let you go.” 

Sherlock lifted his other arm from John’s back and held John’s face in between his hands, effectively stilling him, the lies coming easily on his tongue now. They both knew Sherlock couldn’t fight it, not that cancer, not at this stage, but he lied anyway. He had to. For John. For himself. “I won’t give up, John. I promised I wasn’t leaving unless you asked me to, and I meant it. We’re going to fight this.” Sherlock let his eyes wander over the other’s face, drinking him in, the familiar features tugging at his heart. “Together,” he breathed against John’s lips, leaning in, “or not at all.”


End file.
